


Hang On To Yourself

by brooklinegirl



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/pseuds/brooklinegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://rollingstoneextras.com/playlists/view/gerard-way">
<br/><i>Glam became about the kid in the room, the poster on the wall, putting on a women's short fur coat and eyeliner, with no shirt on, just listening to this music.</i>
<br/></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hang On To Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to mrsronweasley for truly excellent beta work. You always make my fic so, so much better. <3

It wasn't a thing, but it was something. Gerard didn't want to think about it too closely - he didn't want to ruin it, to change it, to turn it into something that it wasn't. It wasn't anything, really - it was just the music. That was it. You put on Bowie in a dim basement, and maybe lit some candles - for atmosphere, for effect, for something - and it made the music _more_ than it was before. It made Gerard feel like _he_ was something more than he was before. Before what, he didn't know. Maybe before this, before the heavy beats of the song drew him in, reinvented him each time.

He didn't know. He didn't want to know. He wasn't going to think about it.

Mostly, he just _liked_ it. He liked putting on eyeliner in the dim light, the music keeping him company in the background. He liked leaning in towards the mirror hung a little crookedly on the wall - an antique, with a huge wooden frame - and using the good eyeliner that he'd bought after he saw it recommended in an issue of _Cosmo_. It went on in this smooth, dark line so perfect that it almost made him not want to smudge it.

He settled for tilting his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and admiring the line before rubbing it with the ball of his thumb carefully. Oh man. The smudged darkness made his eye pop - it looked fantastic. He switched to the other eye - that one went on less perfectly, which made him feel better about his decision to smudge (both eyes never came out perfect).

After he had both eyes done, he stood back a little, assessing. He looked different already, even though it was just him in the basement, his usual self. The music was something he _felt_ , but the make-up was something he could see. His eyes looked huge, and when he ran his hand through his hair, messing it up some more, he just looked - _better_. More. Different.

He glanced towards the stairs, even though he knew that no one was home, that he had the place to himself for the night. He didn't know why he worried, or cared - this was about being fearless, right? Being yourself. Being _him_ self. He should be okay with this part even if anyone was around. He would be. He was.

"Lady Stardust" came on and he hummed along as he rummaged around in the old army bag he used to carry all his crap around, digging out the Bonnie Bell lipgloss he'd bought that afternoon. (See? _Fearless_. Even though he'd been repeating in his head, _It's for my little sister, it's her birthday, it's for my little sister, it's her birthday_ the entire time the bored cashier was ringing him up.) It was "Luscious Berry" flavor, and the color had jumped out at him from the rack - even though he knew it was just tinted, it was this deep dark purple-red and he loved it.

Now, as he twisted open the top, and pulled out the applicator, his heart was beating faster for some stupid reason, completely out of rhythm with the music. The slim brush clutched in his sweaty fingers felt special, like this was an _occasion_ or something. He shot a quick look back at the stairs again before he could stop himself, then leaned in towards the mirror and drew the wand over his top lip. Carefully - it was hard to get the angle right and not, like, go outside the lines. He did his bottom lip then - that was easier, he used the same decisive brushstroke he used when he was drawing - and stood back a little, rubbing his lips together the same way he'd seen girls on TV do. He liked how it felt, the slick sensation, and he liked how it looked in the mirror - it made his heart beat faster, it was such a singularly _girly_ thing to do.

The lipgloss smelled sweet and tasted sort of gross - processed and unnatural - but Gerard was breathing harder and he didn't quite know why.

He looked at himself in the big mirror. He was still him; he was still Gerard. But his eyes were outlined and huge, his lips shiny from the gloss. He took a breath, blowing his hair out of his eyes - he'd showered earlier and his hair was fly-away and soft, badly-dyed black fluttering up from his forehead.

He took another breath and watched himself in the mirror as he unbuttoned the flannel shirt he was wearing. His fingers moved steadily in his peripheral vision, but mostly, he couldn't take his eyes off his face, how the eyeliner and lipgloss were such tiny things that made so much difference in how he looked.

He shrugged the shirt off, tossed it on the chair with all the other clothes he'd worn this week, and cast an uneasy glance at himself - his pale chest, his skinny arms, his round stomach. He tried not to suck it in, but it was impossible when he looked in the mirror. He shook his head, focused on his eyes - they looked really fucking good - and hiked up his jeans a little, then shook his head again, and pushed at the waist 'til they slid low on his hips.

He turned around then, and slid aside the sheet that was the doorway to his closet. Elena's old fur jacket - gray, thick, heavy in a way nothing in the stores today was - hung there. She'd let him have it after seeing him eye it in her closet for months. Elena got him like no one else did - she'd just arched one eyebrow and pulled it out, handing it to him with a smile.

He didn't know what it was about it, but oh man. He loved the heft it. He loved the ruffle of fur against his skin. He'd been thinking about it in the weeks since she'd given it to him, but this was his first time actually putting it on.

He slipped into it, the lining sliding smooth over his skin, giving him goosebumps and sending a shudder down his spine. The fur brushed his neck, his cheeks, his wrists, and as he turned back to the mirror, he realized with a start that he was half-hard and hadn't even noticed it. He swallowed nervously, shifting his stance, but his cock felt kind of good and heavy in his jeans. He tilted his head a little to the left before reaching up and popping the collar of the jacket.

Oh man. He looked _fantastic_.

He was breathing faster now, and when he bit his lip, he tasted berry. He palmed the front of his jeans, where his cock was pressing up against the zipper, and swallowed a moan - it felt so _good_. He looked at himself again, at his dark eyes in the mirror, at how the paleness of his chest looked right, now, looked soft and different in the shadow of the jacket. He let his fingers run over the hard outline of his cock in his jeans and he leaned in, pressing his other hand against the wall next to the mirror. God. Just the light touch of his fingers against his jeans was such a fucking tease.

He took a breath, watching in the mirror how his hair shifted when he let his breath out hard. He hesitated with his fingertips on his cock, then cupped himself, hard and firm, and oh god, oh _god_ , yeah, _that_. He wanted _more_.

The song switched and Gerard leaned over, turned it up louder, so all he could hear was Bowie - no cars passing by outside, none of the creaking of the house. Just this, just the music.

He leaned closer to the mirror, bracing himself against the wall and making these choked gasping noises as he watched his own reflection. His knees were shaking. He couldn't take this. It was exactly what he fucking wanted. Everything felt like too much - the fur against his wrists, the denim against his waist, the slick slide of his lips as he pressed them together to bite back a moan.

He let himself move back, pushing off against the wall next to the mirror with a flamboyant flick of his wrist that just got him harder. The back of his knees hit the bed and he fell backwards. Oh god, every movement he made just got him going _harder_. It should have felt silly, stupid, but it _didn't_. He was so fucking hard that even just pushing himself back further onto the bed, scrambling back until he could use his heels to shove himself up fully, made him feel _wanton_.

He ran the fingers of his hand up over the denim stretched tight over the inside of his thigh, up over the buttons of his jeans, and bit his lip hard as he thumbed open the top button. The pressure of the denim over his dick was almost too much. He pushed his head back into the pillow, feeling the fur of the jacket against the back of his neck and the sides of his cheeks as he quickly opened his jeans the rest of the way.

He cupped his hard dick in his hand - he was so glad he'd gone commando. He lifted his hips, shoving his jeans further down his thighs, quick and awkward. They stayed trapped midway down his thighs, and his dick was hard and huge in his hand, exposed, _out_ there, so fucking dirty he couldn't quite breathe right.

It all felt like too much - his hand was so soft as he gripped his dick and god, something about the way the waist of his jeans cut in a little where they were pushed down his thighs - ramping everything up more than it already was. Gerard fumbled the drawer next to the bed open and got out the lube, slicking his hand up just enough and wrapping it around himself again, fuck, so fucking _good_. He wasn't going to last, and he knew it - he was leaking already, everything was messy and slick, and he was breathing so fucking hard, his breath coming out in little moans that just, fuck, he was turning _himself_ on.

He felt hot and sexy and like everything he wanted to be, deep down inside. The jacket was heavy, and it slipped off one of his shoulders with each movement he made. When he dug his feet into the mattress, his boots still on, lifting his hips into his strokes, his jeans tugged tightly around his thighs, getting him hotter, his breath coming that much faster.

He was trying to take it slow, but he _couldn't_ \- everything was getting him so fucking excited, so fucking _close_. He couldn't stop shifting his hips, feeling the pull of the denim against his skin. He bit his lip, turning his head again to feel the brush of fur against his hot face, moaning deep in his throat and stroking himself harder, tighter, faster.

"Fuck," he gasped, just to hear himself over the music, hear his voice come out rough and shot and frantic over the song. " _Fuck_." He was trying to slow it down, hang on to the edge, but fuck, fuck, it was so much, _too_ much, he had to stroke himself harder, faster, Christ, yeah, _fuck_ , yeah. He shoved his free hand into his hair, tugging at it as he pressed his head back against the bed. "Jesus fucking _Christ_ ," he panted, his own voice getting lost in the sound of David Bowie's ringing out from the speakers, filling the room, and oh _fuck_ , that was it, that was _it_. He let himself moan loud, _loud_ as he came hot and hard, his whole body arching up off the bed as he shot all over his stomach and chest, so hot, so _much_.

He slumped back to the bed, shaky, and just held onto his cock for a minute as it softened in his hand. He felt fucking _wrung out_. He dragged in a breath finally and ran his hand up over his chest, smearing the come against his skin. He wiped his hand off on the sheets and sat up carefully, trying to keep the fur from brushing against the mess on his chest. He shrugged out of the jacket, letting it fall back on the bed. He felt shaky, still, buzzing. Like he'd had a couple of shots - his fingers tingled and his cheeks were still burning hot.

He got up, tugging his jeans up and buttoning them as he walked over to the mirror again. Even now, without the jacket, with the eyeliner smeared a little bit and the lipgloss bitten off, he still looked - different. Still looked more like he felt inside. His cheeks were red and his hair looked sex-tangled, his eyes were bright. He ran one hand down his sticky chest, and even though he was still pale and soft, his jeans cutting into the skin of his hips, he - he liked what he saw.

Gerard bit his lip again, tilting his head to the side so his hair fell into his eyes. Then he sighed and turned back to the bed, picking up the jacket, fixing its sleeves, brushing the fur of the collar back into place, and hung it back up, neat and careful and tucked away, in his closet, for next time.

the end


End file.
